Skillset? What even counts as a skill these days? Is making a PowerPoint using my Canva Pro subscription considered a tech skill? Or does spending hours on owasp.org. to learn hacking and testing out vulnerable websites—just to suggest better security measures—count as one?
No, no. I've already accidentally become a criminal once. I am not trying for a second round. But if anyone asks, I am totally not interested in world domination. But also, wink.
Mr. Arése, on the other hand, seems to have way too much free time for a supposedly busy CEO. One second, I was minding my business; the next, he was standing beside me like a silent judgmental statue. Maybe being ridiculously rich means having~ all~ the~ time in the worl; assuming you ignore the 200% stress levels that come with it.
Maybe being ridiculously wealthy means you have all the time in the world to bother broke students, apparently.
Anyway, I rolled my eyes, sighed, and focused back on dragging elements onto my minimalist presentation. I needed to make it visually appealing, but not too appealing. I had to strike that perfect balance of "informative" without accidentally looking like I actually cared too much. The last thing I needed was for my professor to suddenly expect high-effort work from me every time.
Maybe I should embed a Subway Surfers clip in every other slide just to keep my audience awake. It was a well-known fact that students had the attention span of a goldfish. If there wasn't a video or something mildly entertaining, no one would even bother to listen. Or maybe just a few cat pictures. Everyone liked cats. Even the coldest, most unfeeling human would hesitate before ignoring a slide filled with adorable kittens if we put aside the cats' judgmental, I-am-your-master energy despite being adorable.
I glanced at my screen and sighed. The background looked too boring. Should I add a subtle gradient? Maybe some light animations? But then I remembered that our university's projector was probably from the Jurassic era and would lag so badly that it would look like a glitching horror game.
It took me three hours to finish everything. That was three hours of researching, summarizing, organizing the topic into digestible points, and pasting it all into my Canva masterpiece. I had rewritten my bullet points at least five times, questioning my entire life with each revision. By the end, my soul felt thoroughly drained, and I was convinced that I had aged at least five years.
And before you ask, can't you just do this at home? No. Absolutely not. The moment I step foot inside my house, my brain immediately switches to sleep mode. No assignments, no responsibilities. Just hibernation. Assignments? Never heard of them. Productivity? Couldn't be me.
This was why I always did my work in the library or some public space. The constant presence of other people judging me from afar was the only thing keeping me accountable. If I was at home, I would blink, and suddenly it would be three hours later with zero progress made.
My weekly class schedule was usually just three hours long, and I took immense pride in that fact. The rare occasions when I had to sit through six straight hours of lectures felt like my soul was being slowly extracted with a pair of tweezers. The only reason I even showed up was for attendance. Half the time, I left midway to do literally anything else.
By the time I finished my slides, it was already twelve forty-seven in the afternoon, and my stomach was sending me urgent hunger notifications. A quick lasagna trip to 7-Eleven was now top priority.
I packed my things, logged out of the computer, put it on sleep mode for the next student, and retrieved my digital passport from the librarian.
As soon as I stepped out of the air-conditioned library, reality smacked me in the face.
The hallway was a war zone, crowds of students, loud chatter, people walking without an ounce of spatial awareness. And worst of all, it was hot. The kind of humid, sticky heat that made me feel like I was being roasted alive. Temperature spiking as if I had just walked into an industrial oven
Not wasting any time, I turned the corner of the stairs and sped up, making a beeline for the exit.
Now, to leave campus, we had to tap out our digital passports at the security system. This apparently notifies the emergency contact phone number on record, just in case a student gets abducted or something. I didn't want to bother my parents with a pointless notification, so I didn't tap out and just slipped away unnoticed.
My destination is obviously the cravings of my stomach, The Great 7-Eleven. It was only two streets away, an easy walk, except for the fact that the sun was absolutely ruthless. The moment I stepped inside the store, I inhaled the artificially cooled air like it was oxygen itself.
As soon as I stepped in, I inhaled the artificially cool air like it was the breath of life. This? This was heaven.
Because of my somewhat sensitive stomach, which was just a fancy way of saying I make bad food choices and suffer the consequences later, I grabbed two cold lasagnas, a Kopiko Lucky Day coffee drink, a sterilized milk, and a sixteen-ounce cup filled with ice cubes. Another beautiful day of fueling my caffeine addiction.
After paying at the counter and waiting for the staff to microwave my food, I settled into one of the available seats by the glass wall. With my feast before me, I did what any normal person would do. Silently judge every passerby while munching on my combined breakfast and lunch.
Some guy in a full suit walked by, looking way too important for this street. He was on a call, probably talking about stocks, tax fraud, or whatever rich people discuss.
A student ran past, clearly late for something, tripping on the curb and barely saving himself from kissing the pavement. I saluted him in my mind.
Then, just as I was about to take another bite of my lasagna, the universe decided to spice up my afternoon.
A black luxury car pulled up right outside the store. Normally, I wouldn't care. Rich people exist, whatever.
But when the car door opened and Mr. Moneybags Blonde himself stepped out, I nearly choked on my food.
Bro, wtf? No. No way. What is he doing here?
I quickly looked away, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the microwave's spinning plate even though I couldn't see it due to its distance from my seat and the counter. Maybe if I ignored him hard enough, he'd disappear.
Sad spoiler: He did not.
Instead, he casually entered the store like he owned the place, which, given his vibe, wouldn't even surprise me.
I shoved a bite of lasagna into my mouth, hoping he wouldn't notice me. Yet, he noticed me. Because of course he did.